


i'm always what you like

by silklace



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: Hooking up, M/M, White House era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 06:48:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14611983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silklace/pseuds/silklace
Summary: I'm your good time / I'll be your temporary fix / You can call me / I'm always what you like





	i'm always what you like

**Author's Note:**

> Porn with Feelings can be my brand now, right?
> 
> keep it secret, keep it safe: please do not ever share with anyone directly or indirectly involved! for our collective sanity. 
> 
> title is from the hook up banger Temporary Fix by 1D.

_U up?_ Lovett finds his phone lit up blue when he returns from the bathroom for the second time in an hour. Four diet cokes into this all-nighter and the number of times he’s needed to take a break to piss might be erasing the productivity he was hoping to gain at this point. 

Tommy, on the other hand, was supposed to have gone to bed a couple of hours ago, at a respectable time, especially since he’s been pulling 16-hour work days for the last week. 

Lovett bites his lip. _Now I am._

 _Liar_ , Lovett gets back immediately. Then: _i can hear u pacing ._

_I have the footfalls of a lithe Olympic gymnast, how dare you._

Lovett can hear Tommy’s laughter through the thin walls of their apartment, which is hardly fucking fair. On his phone, three blue dots appear. He sniffs at his t-shirt. Possibly he should have taken a shower today. 

He’s just poking his head through the hole of a fresh t-shirt (“May the force be with you!” substituted with the mathematical formula for force) snatched from the pile of clean but unfolded laundry dumped on his desk chair when the blue dots abruptly disappear. Okay, cool. That’s fine. 

He drops onto his bed and pulls his laptop towards him. Great. He’ll finish this draft in the next hour, Jon will be pleasantly surprised, and Lovett will grab a couple of hours of sleep. Everybody wins. 

His phone buzzes against his thigh. _Why don’t u cartwheel that lithe Olympic bod over here then ?_

Jesus. Okay, then. 

Tommy’s room is dark, his blackout curtains pulled tight across the windows. There’s a towel dropped over his laptop, blocking out the little light from his charger. God. What a mess. 

Lovett leans against the doorframe. “Do you usually spend that much time workshopping your booty texts?” He pushes forward into the room, until he can see, from the light of the hallway, how Tommy is propped up on his bicep, arm folded behind his head. “’Cause I gotta say - not your best work. No wonder you’re single.”

“Worked on you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m easy,” Lovett says, glancing away. 

“Easy is the last word in the history of the world that describes you,” Tommy says, through a grin. The sheets are pushed down to his waist, and apparently he sleeps shirtless. Good to know. Jon swallows and looks around the room. There’s a picture of Tommy and his dad on his bureau, another of him with both of his parents at graduation. A couple of books stacked haphazardly in a corner. Not much else. 

“I’m, like, four diet cokes deep,” he announces abruptly. He rubs his foot against the leg of Tommy’s bed distractedly. He can feel his heart rate in his fingertips.

Tommy makes a thoughtful noise. “How’s the draft coming?” His voice is deep and a little gravelly from sleeping. Or maybe he’s just been staring at the ceiling for the past few hours. What the fuck does Lovett know. 

“Fine.” Lovett shrugs. “It’s coming. It’s fine.”

“Informative,” Tommy says, rubbing his chin against his shoulder. 

“Oh,” Lovett says, “Is that why you’re texting me at three o’clock in the morning? For a full debriefing on the state of a minor speech no one’s going to remember in six days?”

“I’ll remember,” Tommy says smoothly. He pats the space on the bed next to him. “C’mere,” he intones, eyes looking soft and tired. Lovett’s belly flips. Possibly too much caffeine. 

Lovett sits. 

“That’s not the right use of the word debriefing,” Tommy says softly, pushing his hand up the leg of Lovett’s boxers and palming the meat of his thigh. 

Lovett spreads his knees. His dick is starting to fatten up. “You are the most charming boy in the world, Tommy.”

Tommy pushes his hand up until his fingers are touching the space where Lovett’s thigh starts to curve into his hip, his ass. “Thank you,” he says politely. He nudges his head back against the pillow. “Come sit on my face?”

“Ha,” Lovett breathes. “Sure, okay. Cool.” Fuck. He watches Tommy’s hand snake out of his boxers, then drift to his hip, casually touching the skin there. “Cool,” Lovett says again, heart in his teeth. 

He stands up and shimmies out of his boxers, flinging them onto Tommy’s lamp with a pointed look. Tommy shrugs. “If you think that bothers me,” he says, “then you’ve underestimated how swiftly and thoroughly living with you has eviscerated my standards for tidiness.”

Lovett knees up onto the bed. “Glad to be of service, Mr. Vietor.” Tommy grips him around the hips and swings him up so he’s straddling his chest. “Christ. Such a showoff.” 

Tommy’s smiling up at him, eyes-half lidded. He thumbs at Lovett’s hip bones, eyes wandering, like he can’t get enough of looking at Lovett’s thick thighs, his flat little belly. “Lemme suck your dick?”

Tommy actually licks his fucking lips, like he’s getting horned up about it, thinking about sucking the tip of Lovett’s cock into his mouth. Which shouldn’t make Jon feel nuts, like it’s the first time all over again, Tommy pushing him back against their front door and sinking to his knees, looking up at him with wide eyes the whole time like it was something special and tender and beloved. 

Jon swallows, tugging his t-shirt up, his cock bobbing almost comically between his legs. He wraps his hand around the base and nudges the tip against Tommy’s lips. “Is this how you get all the girls? Begging to put your face up their skirts?”

Tommy makes a breathy sound, lipping at Jon’s cock head. “Thought I was too pathetic to get girls,” he murmurs, voice pitched low. 

“That’s right,” Lovett gasps, fisting his hand in Tommy’s hair, tugging a little. “Totally pathetic.”

Tommy hums distractedly, like he’s only half listening, most of his attention focused on tracking Lovett’s cock, swiping his tongue against the hot skin in these delicate little lapping motions. 

“You’d look good in a skirt, though,” he says, like it just occurred to him. He slides his palms up the back of Lovett’s legs until he can cup his ass. 

“ _You’d_ look good in a skirt,” Lovett shoots back, shaky. Tommy fucking would too – legs for days, that pert bottom – but what the fuck are they even talking about. “Stop talking. Suck my dick.”

“God, I’m trying,” Tommy mutters, flashing him a hot look and sealing his mouth around the head. He sucks, hollowing his cheeks. 

Tommy’s surprisingly good at giving head, to Lovett’s eternal astonishment and chagrin, especially when he catches sight of Tommy at work, buttoned up and surly looking, and he has to refrain from shouting, loudly and repeatedly, THAT’S THE GUY WHOSE FACE I CAME ON LAST NIGHT.

That’s the thing with Tommy – Lovett never has any idea what he’s thinking, and he certainly never anticipated that what he was thinking about was grossly uninhibited sexual intimacy. 

He doesn’t mind getting messy about it, for one thing, like he is now: saliva on his chin, lips slick and pink as he goes down deep enough that his eyes are watering, tear tracks on his cheeks. It’s unreal, hard to believe. 

“You look obscene,” Lovett says. He intends to sound piercing or even disdainful, something to cover up for the fact that he feels seconds from popping off like a teenager - but what comes out is soft. Almost tender. 

He tugs on Tommy’s hair, the color of sunshine even in the low light of the room. Tommy pulls off, panting a little. “Yeah?”

“Oh,” Lovett says, shifting forward so his dick brushes Tommy’s cheek. Tommy closes his eyes, leaning into it. “You want me to tell you how you look with my dick in your mouth? That’s what you want.”

“Sure,” Tommy says, grinning and curling his tongue around the head of Lovett’s dick. He slides his hands along the backs of Jon’s thighs, then up further until they’re brushing the crevice of his ass, purposeful, making him moan, making heat break out along his chest and throat. They haven’t - 

He shoves his dick back in Tommy’s mouth, drawing a startled, pleased sound out of him. “You look perfect,” Lovett grits out, pushing his hips forward until Tommy chokes, then drawing back, cupping both of his hands along Tommy’s jaw. “You look perfect,” he says again, softer. 

Tommy runs his mouth along the crease of Lovett’s hip. “You don’t have to be nice to me,” he says, gripping Lovett’s ass hard enough to leave fingerprints. 

Lovett puts his hands back in Tommy’s hair. “God, I’m not. You - you’re – unbelievable.” Fuck, he’s gonna come, and he’s not sure if it’s in spite of or because of Tommy’s relentless desire to be bullied tonight. What is wrong with him. What is wrong with Tommy. 

He fucks into Tommy’s mouth until he’s moaning, hollowing his cheeks and shutting his eyes like he’s really enjoying it, getting off on the idea of Lovett riding his face, hard and fast. 

He wants to say something hot and mean, because Tommy’s obviously getting off on that, too – but it all sounds like a terrible and deeply unsexy parody of the worst porn imaginable in his head. Maybe Tommy can get away with saying filthy shit but Lovett – can’t. He fucking can’t, okay.

He presses his thumb to the hinge of Tommy’s mouth, watching his dick slide between his lips, pink and shiny and pursed so tightly - he’s trying so hard to be good at this, to make it good for Lovett, as if it isn’t, as if this isn’t the best fucking thing - 

He wants to tell Tommy he doesn’t have to try so fucking hard. 

He digs his thumb in a little, instead, working it between Tommy’s lips, hips still humping forward and shoving his dick in and out of the slick circle of his mouth, but now his thumb’s there too, pulling, stretching Tommy’s lips, making it harder to suck properly, making him work for it, which apparently is what Tommy _wants_ because he starts moaning and squirming around like he’s trying to get friction on his cock against the sheets, fingers flexing on Lovett’s ass and pulling his cheeks apart, so fucking filthy, like he’s trying to show off Lovett’s hole, like he’s thinking about what it would be like to have Lovett ride his dick after he gets done riding his face. 

“Fuck,” Lovett breathes, imagining that, imagining sinking down onto Tommy’s cock, maybe pinning his arms above his head, because Tommy would like that, would turn red from forehead to sternum, humiliated but loving the idea of someone shoving him down and riding him, using his dick to come. 

“I’m gonna,” he grits out as Tommy’s finger starts circling his hole, making heat curl – rough and licking – from his spine to the bottom of his feet. “St – stop, I’m gonna,” he says, stuttering, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his hands on the headboard instead of Tommy’s jaw, so that Tommy can move away if he wants. 

But he doesn’t, he sucks harder, faster, pushing the tip of his finger into Jon’s hole, just the tip, in a way that drags against Lovett’s rim and sets his whole fucking body aflame, and he comes, his orgasm moving over him in waves, making his spine curl forward, fingers clenching and unclenching. He hides his open mouth in the hinge of his elbow, gasping, not trusting himself to speak, hardly able to do more than choke, as Tommy sucks him through it. 

When he looks down, Tommy is licking the tip of Lovett’s cock, running his mouth in pleasure-chasing circles around the skin, color high on his cheekbones. Lovett puts his face back in his elbow. 

Tommy slides one palm over Lovett’s hip, up along his belly and chest. “You’re shaking,” he observes, flicking his thumb against Lovett’s nipple. 

Lovett twitches away, settling back on his haunches, ass just a few inches from Tommy’s hard dick. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he says. “It’s the caffeine.” 

He grabs Tommy’s hand and sucks two of his fingers into his mouth, looking right at him but not making a show of it, just wanting something to put his lips around. Tommy’s thighs twitch underneath him, like he’s restraining from finding something to thrust against. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” Tommy breathes, pink everywhere, watching the way Lovett is sliding his mouth wetly along the length of his fore and middle fingers. Lovett twitches an eyebrow at him, as if to say, _go on_. 

“And fucking cute,” Tommy blathers. Maybe he’s panicking, Lovett thinks, but – maybe not. He looks a little wrecked, eyes glassy and mouth loose, but he’s looking right at Lovett, that serious face he makes when he’s laser focused, intent. 

Lovett’s belly flips and he looks down, sliding his mouth up to the knuckles again. 

“Like that,” Tommy says, swearing and moving his hips again, restless and wanting. “You never shut up and you’re always bitching at me and then it’s like you get all fucking – coy or some shit,” he rambles, “with your – eyelashes and your mouth and your fucking – hot little body, perfect and sweet, Lovett, so fucking sweet –”

Okay, Lovett thinks, and puts his palm over Tommy’s mouth. He slides off of Tommy’s fingers. “Please shut up,” he says. “This is – this is me taking pity on you and helping you shut up. Jesus Christ.” 

Tommy looks like he’s going to protest, so Lovett leans in and bites his jaw. “I’m gonna let you come now, okay?” Tommy shivers, actually fucking shivers, so Lovett bites him again, and again, until he’s moaning, thighs going soft and loose, fingers curling gently against Lovett’s skin. 

Lovett pulls his palm away. “Tell me how you want to come,” he directs, a little breathier than he intended, but Tommy arches up towards him anyways. 

“Wanna come all over you,” he says, helpless sounding. “Let me come on your ass, please, I’ll make it good for you –”

“I know you will,” he chokes, “I know you will, Tommy,” and then Tommy is levering up, crushing Lovett to him and manhandling him until he’s on his belly, Tommy behind him, face pressed to the back of his neck, making these terrible, desperate noises as he ruts against Lovett’s ass, spitting on his fingers and rubbing them, slick and wet, against his hole, pressing his dickhead there, not entering, just feeling the way Lovett’s body wants to suck his dick in, hot and greedy. 

And Lovett’s pushing back for it, mindless, wanting, raising his hips for it, feeling the catch and glide of Tommy’s fat dick against his ass, clutching at the sheets, and Tommy is too, fingers white knuckled, except for where one arm is wrapped around Lovett’s chest, so he can hold him there, tight to his body, like if he leaves it would destroy Tommy, just absolutely fucking ruin him, and Lovett feels like he’s dying, like all of the air in the room has gone out, and he can’t help making these sounds, sharp and high in the back of his throat, even though it’s not enough to cover the words Tommy’s saying, over and over, against the skin of his shoulder, where he’s pressing hot open mouthed kisses, and Lovett – Lovett’s going to give him a pass, it’s the heat of the fucking moment, and he’d rather go a thousand fucking years not talking about this than having to live through any other moment, any fucking universe, where he points out that Tommy is whispering mindlessly, “Love you, love you,” chanting it like a mantra, rolling his forehead along Lovett’s shoulder, hips pistoning and grinding forward, wild and desperate, fucking forward against Lovett like his life depends on it, like if he doesn’t come on Lovett’s body right now he’s going to lose it. 

“Come on, Tommy,” Lovett breathes, taking Tommy’s hand and linking their fingers together. “Come on me, baby,” he says, voice tight, and Tommy does, choking, sealing his mouth in a kiss against Lovett’s hairline, breathing hard through his nose, his whole body a long, tense length against Lovett’s back.

After, Tommy says, “Give me a second,” and touches the side of Lovett’s face. He sounds like he’s trying to catch his breath.

“I didn’t even say anything,” Lovett protests. “Take your time.” Tommy grunts, not moving. “You don’t weigh a million pounds. I actually love the feeling of come drying on my ass and leg hair. No rush here at all.” 

“I am not even that heavy, and you fucking liked it a second ago –”

Lovett raises his voice. “Says the person who has never experienced the sensation of come going from body temperature hot to lukewarm porridge temperature on their bare fucking ass.”

Tommy kisses the back of his neck, again, huffing. “God, you know I’m gonna clean you up myself in like point three seconds.”

He does – levering himself up on his forearms and rolling off of Lovett like a show off, biceps bulging. He comes back a few minutes later with a damp washcloth and a bottle of sparkling water. 

Lovett raises an eyebrow. “Guess the service here isn’t. Like. Terrible.”

He lets Tommy clean him up, then pushes himself up into a sitting position, looking around for his clothes. Tommy knees up onto the bed. “That was – really good,” he says, shifting into a cross-legged position next to Lovett, so that their thighs are touching. “For me,” he clarifies, palming the back of his neck. “Was it – uh, for you?”

“You were okay,” Lovett says. “The whole like, ripped bod but begging for it thing isn’t, you know – it works for some people, I guess. Like, I’ve heard.”

Tommy’s laughing, cheeks red again. He shoves Lovett. “You’re such a dick to me.”

Lovett takes a swig of the water. “Don’t kinkshame yourself.” He reaches for his t-shirt, pulling it on over his head. “Your feelings are all perfectly normal and natural, Tommy.”

Tommy’s watching him get dressed. Lovett can see the freckles on his chest, his shoulders. 

“Bring your laptop in here,” he says, finally, relaxing back against the pillows, pulling one leg up to rest his elbow against it. “Finish the draft here.”

Lovett looks at him. “Don’t be a weirdo.”

Tommy’s blush deepens, but he works his jaw. “I know for a fact that your desk has been covered in laundry and fucking empty take out containers for the last six months, so don’t pretend it’s somehow out of the realm of possibility for you to. Fucking finish the draft on a bed.”

“Oh my god,” Lovett says, “Don’t fucking burst a vein. Jesus Christ. You like, literally just got laid, calm down.”

“I am super calm!”

“Go get my laptop then, you freak!” Lovett drops back down onto the bed, pushing his chin out. 

“Fine!” 

“Cool!” Lovett shouts to his retreating back. “And maybe put some fucking clothes on,” he mutters, mostly to himself. 

Tommy returns with the laptop and Lovett’s pillow. He drops the computer in front of Lovett on the bed, then circles back around and crawls onto the other side. He pulls Lovett’s pillow under his head, shutting his eyes. 

“You can turn the lamp on, if you need to,” he says, curling his fingers against Lovett’s back. 

“It’s – fine,” Lovett says. Right. He flips his laptop open, glancing at Tommy, whose eyes are closed, his mouth turned down a little in repose, but not tight and pinched at the corners like it is sometimes. Okay. “I’m good.”

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative brand idea: Let! Tommy! Vietor! Sleep!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Comments/con-crit welcome and adored. <3


End file.
